“Positive,” Anamaría answered. “Father Miguel and I have agreed upon a flat rate for my teaching the class twice a week. I’ve been a parishioner here my whole life. Many of the ladies who attend have known me since I was in diapers. We’re like family, and this gives me a chance to use my training to help others.”
Over the woman’s shoulder, Anamaría watched Señora Miranda stroll toward the kitchen and office area, the opposite direction of the door to the parking lot. Usually she hurried out after class, on her way to the restaurant where she helped her husband with Miranda’s busy lunch shift.
“Perhaps a donation to the church then?” the newcomer suggested. She dabbed the sheen of perspiration on her pale forehead and cheeks, then pressed the hand towel to the area above her navy scoop-necked tee. “I must share, this past hour, meeting the other ladies and witnessing your positive energy, it’s the most uplifting I’ve felt since . . .” Her voice faltered. A shadow fell over her face, deepening the lines tracing across her forehead. “Since my dear Harry passed.”
Moved by the admission, Anamaría gave the woman’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m happy you’ve joined us then. Getting those endorphins flowing can improve your psyche; I promise. And most of the ladies who come are always looking for volunteers for one church committee or charity or another. There’s no shortage of friends to be made and good deeds to keep you busy here at St. Mary’s.”
The woman’s light gray eyes crinkled with her appreciative smile, lifting the cloud of sorrow from her features. “Thank you, dear. I do look forward to coming back on Thursday. Now, did I hear you say the class days change from week to week?”
Anamaría explained how the time always remained 11:00 A.M., but the days of the week varied depending on her shift at the fire station. She removed a blue folder from her backpack and handed a flyer with the AM Fitness April–June class calendar to the newcomer.
“Feel free to contact me with any questions. And please share the info with anyone who might be interested,” she said. “I’m always looking for new clients who’d like some one-on-one diet and exercise assistance. Or who enjoy outdoor group workouts.”
“I certainly will. My daughter-in-law’s an elementary school teacher at Poinciana. I’ll be sure to sing your praises to her and her friends.”
“Much appreciated.”
With a loose-fingered wave, the woman turned to leave, her white tennis shoes squeaking on the hall’s cream-and-brown vinyl flooring.
As soon as the door closed, Anamaría began gathering her supplies from the six-foot folding picnic table pushed against the back wall. She slid the Bluetooth speaker that connected to the Zumba playlist on her phone into its protective Bubble Wrap sleeve, then placed the speaker inside her workout duffel along with a box of tissues and the stack of unused AM Fitness sweat towels she kept on hand for clients.
A quick glance at her Apple watch confirmed she had a little over an hour before she and Sara were scheduled to meet at Starbucks. Plenty of time—
“If our class keeps growing like this, we might have to ask about using the school gym.”
Anamaría twisted around at Señora Miranda’s comment.
Smiling her pleasure, Alejandro’s mom strolled closer. A black headband tucked the sides of her brown bob away from her face, and she had changed from exercise leggings and a T-shirt into a pair of black pants and a red polo with the Miranda’s logo stitched in black above her left breast.
“A crowded class is a good problem to have, verdad?” Anamaría replied.
“Yes, very true.” Señora Miranda set her purse on the folding table next to Anamaría’s duffel. “Gracias, again, for soothing an old woman’s worries yesterday.”
“It was nothing.” Anamaría waved off the thanks, crossing to grab another tissue box from a table along the adjacent wall. “Anything to make you feel better.”
“Por favor, I meant my mamá. I am not quite so old yet.”
Relief ribboned its way through Anamaría at Alejandro’s mom’s exaggerated scandalized expression. On the drive from her home in Stock Island to Smathers Beach for her sunrise yoga class, she’d been running through her schedule for the day. Feeling guilty about refusing to check on Alejandro like her mother had suggested. Yet still certain the less time she spent with him, the better off she would be.
If luck was with her, after her familia dinner last night, the Cuban mami grapevine had been activated. With her mom passing along the info to Alejandro’s that Anamaría had absolutely no interest in their matchmaking.
Still, she’d been prepared to sidestep any prodding or pushing Señora Miranda had in mind before class. To Anamaría’s surprise, Alejandro’s mami had kept mum about her son. Until now.
A girl had only so much luck, apparently.
“Bueno, I only wanted to say thank you, and remind you not to be a stranger.” Alejandro’s mom took the box of tissues and dropped it into Anamaría’s duffel before zipping the bag closed and handing her the strap. “Stop by the restaurant soon. Victor has a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Sí. He finally added your healthy suggestions to the permanent menu.”
“What?” Anamaría froze in pleased shock, her excuse for avoiding Miranda’s now that Alejandro had returned faltering at his mother’s unexpected news. “Are you . . . they’re no longer just an occasional addition to the daily special chalkboard?”
Señora Miranda shook her head, sending the curled ends of her brown bob brushing her red shirt collar.
Excitement flickered through Anamaría like Fourth of July sparklers. She’d been trying to convince Señor Miranda to consider permanently adding some of her healthy Cuban food recipes to the menu for a while now. A long while. To no avail.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“Apparently yesterday, before dinner. Or else I would have told you when you stopped by to check on Alejandro. We believe in you, nena. We always have.” Señora Miranda’s round cheeks plumped even more as her grin broadened. “You know how set my Victor is in his ways. But I was sure he would come around to your ideas eventually. It is good for business. And it is a way for us to support you. He even added your website address to the new menus.”
“¿De veras?” she asked, nearly asking for a pinch to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
Miranda’s was on many must-try lists for Key West visitors. Having her website on the menu was fantastic free advertising.
“Sí, really.”
Overwhelmed by Señor Miranda’s gesture, Anamaría pressed a hand over her chest, where joy had her heart dancing a Zumba grapevine. She’d done it! She’d actually convinced one of the staunchest “tradition is tradition; there’s no need for change” men she knew to add her healthy options to his long-standing menu. Victor Miranda’s hardheadedness was legendary. Same as his elder son’s.
But she also hadn’t stopped trying to change the older man’s mind. Unlike Alejandro.
“Like I said, we believe in you, nena.” Señora Miranda spread her arms, inviting Anamaría in for a tight hug.